


The Man from the Photograph

by DesireeArmfeldt



Series: An Exploration Long Delayed [5]
Category: due South
Genre: Community: ds_snippets | dsc6dsnippets, Family, M/M, POV First Person, Post-Canon, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2397101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser and Ray's meeting at the airport, from Zach's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man from the Photograph

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tracking Back Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338115) by [ButterflyGhost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost). 



> Originally posted to [ds-snippets](http:ds-snippets.livejournal.com) for a [photo prompt of Paul Gross with white hair.](http://ds-snippets.livejournal.com/367498.html)

Holy wow!  _That’s_ Fraser?  Came-to-Chicago-on-the-trail-of-the-killers-of-his-father, partners-even-if-we’re-a-thousand-miles-apart-and-don’t-even-send-Christmas-cards, jumps-off-of-buildings wilderness-survival-expert hears-sheet-music-in-his-head Constable Benton Fraser?

( _Don’t call him Constable,_ my dad explained in the car.  _He must have been promoted a bunch of times by now._ )

He’s _old._

I mean, yeah, okay, he’s my dad’s age, but his hair is _white._ Not just going grey, like Dad’s.  Albino-white.  And he moves like an old guy, creaky and slow.

Then Dad yells, “Fraser!” and his head whips around to look at us, and. . .wow.  This big smile lights up his face, and suddenly he looks just like the guy in Dad’s pictures.  He’s across the lobby in two seconds flat, not moving like an old guy any more—more like a quarterback.

Oh yeah.  _That’s_ Fraser.

Now he’s squeezing the hell out of Dad, and Dad’s thumping his back, both of them grinning like it’s Christmas times a million.  I’ve seen Dad jazzed before, but I’ve never seen him smile like that at anyone besides me.  (Maybe he used to with Mom, back before the divorce?  I was too little to remember.)

I kind of want to look away, because some stuff should be _private._ I suddenly wonder if Dad regrets bringing me along.

Then they’re both looking at me. Fraser’s smile has gone small and embarrassed. He sticks out his hand stiffly.  Like _he’s_ nervous to meet _me._ Which is so ridiculous that suddenly, _I’m_ not nervous any more.

I shake his big hand, smiling reassuringly up at him like he’s a new kid at school.  (Only he’s got that white hair, and his eyes are. . .not old, exactly, but _wise._ )

“Fraser, this is Zach.  My son.”  Dad’s wired, jittering.  “Zach, this is Fraser.”

“I know,” me and Fraser both say at once.  And all three of us crack up laughing.  



End file.
